


Doctor Beardy-Beck

by Canon_Is_Relative



Series: Doctor Bossy-Beck [2]
Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Wier
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), Crew as Family, Dialogue, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Going Home, Hermes - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're on their way home. Mark is trying to work out how to be a person among people again. The crew finds out about him and Beck. Beck stops shaving. The coffee maker is broken. Life on Hermes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Beardy-Beck

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bossy Doctor Blue-eyed Beck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055319) by [Canon_Is_Relative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative). 



> As these things tend to happen, this one is down to impishtubist plot-bunnying me. This time with thoughts of Beck abusing his beard privileges on the way back from Mars. It stands alone but fits in my headcanon right after "[Bossy Blue-eyed Beck](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5055319)," it's book canon but I don't think there's anything that doesn't fit with movie canon beyond the reference Beck makes to Sol 6 being the day Watney "died" (instead of Sol 19 as in the movie).

Chris stopped shaving two days after their Talk with Lewis.

Probably it was just coincidence. Probably it was just the fact that Mark had trained himself to notice everything and track days and hunt down cause and effect that made him read into everything.

Because, really, what possible correlation could there be? 

—

“It’s a good thing we don’t have mirrors on this ship or you’d never get anything done. …What?”

“Nothing.”

“My Martian ass, ‘nothing.’ What’s funny, Doctor Beck?”

“Honestly, nothing. Just. Were you making a roundabout Narcissus joke or hinting we should get one of those motel rooms with a mirror on the ceiling when we get home?”

“How am I the one who ‘thinks too much’? Jesus, man, space has gone to your brain. I’m saying you look damn hot with that scruff on your face, take a compliment.”

“Is ‘compliment’ your new name for Watney Junior?”

“Oh ho, everyone’s a comedian. Why aren’t you on duty, Martinez?”

“Didn’t you hear? Lewis has us on ‘keep the doctor and the Martian from bumping uglies’ duty and I drew short straw for first watch.”

“I hate you all.”

“Heard that one before, Doctor. Didn’t believe it the first time.”

—

It was a clever plan, and Mark was careful to tell Lewis that. Yeah, in the past it had served them well as a team to keep the same hours, eat breakfast together and simulate Earth-style normality together, it created stability and routine that they could bond over. Nothing brought people together like having a common enemy to bitch about (alarm clocks), and a common goal to strive for (goading Mom into letting them stay up late). 

That was all about five hundred mission days in the past.

Lewis had set up a clever rotating schedule by which they staggered sleep and work so that there was always a free bed for whoever was off duty, no need to share bunks anymore. They’d all cross paths for status reports and mission briefings and honestly it was smart to have a human awake at all times, what with _Hermes_ reminding them at all hours that she wasn’t meant to be out this long without a thorough going-over. Mark was 100% on board with all of her reasoning.

Except for the part where the schedule kept him and Beck almost entirely apart.

He took some time to think it over. No sense at all in flying off the rails at the first sign of _the world ending_ or anything like that. 

—

“Commander, you have to let me sleep with Beck.”

“You know that really doesn’t fall under my—“

“Dammit, you know what I mean! Commander. Lewis. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, Watney. Take a minute. …Are you all right?”

“Yes…no. Obviously I’m not all right. Commander, I don’t…I can’t…Fuck. I don’t know what’s going on, believe me I’m second guessing everything I’ve been feeling the last, fuck I don’t know, the last two years. Maybe I finally cracked, maybe this is all a delusion and I’m lying down on Mars drowning in CO2, I don’t know. But on the off chance that this is real, will you please save me the trouble of going actually insane and just let me bunk with Chris again. I haven’t slept in five Sols — dammit — five _days_ , and if you want me to be fit to fix to damn coffee maker I really—“

“—Mark! Breathe, all right? Yes, okay, it’s all right. I talked to Beck this morning, he asked me the same thing, didn’t he tell you? What’s, are you, are you laughing?”

“Let this be a lesson to you, Commander. Make sure the duty schedule gives me plenty of time with my handler so you won’t have to personally manage my crazy or you’ll regret hearing the name Rich Purnell before we’re even halfway home.”

“Watney. Watney. Look at me. I’m going to tell you something and I need you to believe me. The crew will tell you we made the decision to go back for you together and they’re not wrong. But it wouldn’t have been a decision at all if I hadn’t brought it to the table. I pushed for this and I knew that on top of everything there were going to be risks we couldn’t even plan for, your physical and mental health among them. Watney, listen to me. I knew what we were in for, I didn’t hesitate, and I don’t regret it, not for a second. Whatever you need, we’ll make it happen.”

“Well. …”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh. …I never did get that pony I asked for. I think it was my fifth birthday? That was really psychologically damaging for me.”

“I’ll work up a new duty roster. Beck’s got rack time in forty minutes, get your ass down the hall and stop bothering me.”

—

Uncomfortable places Mark has slept: 

• A mouse-infested boy scout tent  
• A raccoon-infested boy scout tent  
• (Actually there was not a single pleasant boy scout camping experience)  
• The Lincoln Park Zoo on a dare  
• Under his grad school study carrel  
• An isolation room for ten days with no human contact which was supposedly important training for the Ares mission which he naturally laughed off and used to get some sleep  
• A Hab that felt about as air-tight as nickel bag  
• A Rover but please don’t talk to him about about it  
• and Chris Beck’s bed

—

“Lewis told me…Mark, you awake?”

“No.”

“Lewis told me you had a kind of—“

“Still asleep, here.”

“Mark.”

“You know I don’t expect anything from you, right?”

“What?”

“Just because we’re, uh, sleeping together, doesn’t mean we have to…you know.”

“‘Bump uglies’?”

“Jesus, Martinez is an idiot.”

“He’s _your_ best friend.”

“…He told you I wrote that, huh.”

“Mark, Lewis told me—“

“Whatever happened to commander-crewman confidentiality?”

“Did you seriously survive Mars just to be a pain in my ass? …Yeah, I heard what I said.”

“That’s awfully forward of you, Doctor Beck, but if you insist…”

“Mark.”

“What. Hey, why did you stop shaving?”

“I need you to be open with me, man, okay? If I, if _this_ , is what’s helping you hold it together, I need to know, okay, I need to know what you need from me.”

“Did Lewis tell you the beard would make me wildly attracted to you? …Or Johanssen, maybe. Did Beth like the feel of bristles in the morning?”

“Mark.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re being a dick.”

“I know.”

“Things are really weird with us. You know? I mean. You died, man. I mourned you, for months. For months I felt like I had died back on Sol 6, too. But I was still needed here, I was still going home where no one would—…where no one would know. I. So many times I almost told…someone. Lewis, Martinez, I just wanted _someone_ to know that I was…how I…that you and me were _you and me_.”

“Except we weren’t.”

“We kind of were.”

“We kind of were. But you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Beth. That’s why me and her…”

“Became you and her?”

“Yeah. It was. After you wrote me. After Iris bombed, when we thought that was it. It was…losing you again was…”

“Hey.”

“What?”

“There’s not enough room in this bed for two crybabies.”

“I’m not crying, that’s you.”

“Says you.”

“Exactly.”

“So bossy.”

“Hey. Mark.”

“Yeah.”

“Is this too forward?”

“…So far I’m liking it.”

“Keep going?”

“Yeah. _Fuck_. Yes.”

—

Mark moved through his days, on point and on schedule. He couldn’t fix the climate control that had turned his and Maritnez’s rooms into a couple of ovens, but he did manage to isolate the coolant problem to keep the rest of the ship relatively stable. He also fixed the coffee maker, and Johanssen all but got down on her knees to kiss his feet. Eventually he got back into the rhythm of their conversations and jokes and the factitious laughter at his inappropriate timing faded and died. 

Things began to return to normal, as normal as possible in a group of six people who knew entirely too much about each other, with only the constant threat of painful demise hanging over them. Luckily Mark was used to that, and as he reacclimated to being a person in the company of people, his familiarity with the state of “probably dying today oh well” seemed to rub off on his crewmates because soon they reached a state of easy equilibrium. Sometimes whole days passed that could have been any time, any place, back in training on Earth or Mission Day 57 or Sol 5 for that matter. The way they worked and lived and played together was the same as it had always been, it was eerily familiar.

Except for the way Mark found himself under attack, again and again, as night after night he contended with an enemy he never could have seen coming.

—

“You said it was handsome!”

“I did not, I’ve never used that word in my life. I said it was damn hot, and that’s not the point.”

“Oh, for—whoever told you that semantics was cute, Watney—“

“Is it ‘semantics _was_ cute’? Or ‘ _were_ cute’? Huh.”

“Would you let me get up?”

“Will you shave that monstrosity off your face?”

“No.”

“Well shit, son, then I guess I’m not moving. I don’t have anywhere to be for fifty minutes and you’re a better pillow than this NASA-issue abomination. You’re staying.”

“Hm, well, if that’s the case…”

“You…heh…you have my attention.”

“Thought I might.”

“Chris, fuck, you’re…you’re gonna be late, if you’re late Lewis is gonna—“

“You really wanna talk about Lewis right now?”

“No, no, no, fuck, Chris, don’t stop, don’t—Jesus Christ where are you putting that thing? Your buckthorn scrub is not going anywhere _near_ there do you hear me?”

“…Really?”

“Yes, really! Have you felt yourself? Abrasion is not a turn-on for me!”

“…’Buckthorn’?”

“Hey, buckthorn is evil, goats won’t even eat that shit. Well, okay, some of them do, but only if they’re hard up.”

“Oh. My god. Speaking of hard up.”

“Hey…hey! Where are you going?”

“To _work_.”

“But…my pillow.”

“But my buckthorn.”

“Goats, Chris! _Goats_.”

—

“Woah! Watney, bro, what happened to you?”

Mark only grunted and kept his eyes on his reconstituted eggs.

“Seriously man,” Martinez was watching him with a sausage hanging off the end of his fork, “that looks bad, are you allergic to something on the ship?”

“I’m fine, Martinez. Leave it.”

“Has Beck seen that?”

Behind them, the doctor himself let out a loud snort and Mark’s fork clattered to the table as Mark jump and spun to face him, cheeks flaring as red as the rash across his neck. 

“Yeah, Martinez, I’ve seen it.”

“That’s it,” Mark said, pointing straight at Beck. “I take it back. It’s not handsome, it’s not charming, it’s not _hot_ , it’s just _evil_. You have abused your beardy powers and it’s time to shave!”

Getting up, Mark starting pushing Beck out of the kitchen and forcibly launching him down the zero-G tunnel towards the bunks. 

“What was that about?” Lewis asked, pulling herself into the room.

Martinez shook his head solemnly. “Beck just lost his beard privileges for the rest of the flight.”


End file.
